Run, Spy, Run

He sat up. "No. I checked the passenger manifest before we left. But I wish I could check Harcourt's pockets. Even if he's carrying a fountain pen or a lighter, it could be dangerous. Someone could have given it to him as a…" He stopped suddenly, looking startled. Julia caught his expression and her eyes flew to follow his gaze. Nick was sitting erect, his jaw taut.

"What is it?" Julia whispered. "That man?"

Nick nodded.

A passenger had risen to his feet, turned into the aisle and made for the door of the lavatory. Julia saw a short, square-shouldered man in a dark suit; clean-shaven; rather handsome head with wiry hair combed back. Nothing special about him. Except that his right sleeve hung empty and the right arm was bound stiffly in a cast of white plaster reaching past the elbow.

The injury must have been recent — the whiteness of plaster and bandage shone spotlessly clean.

Nick started humming tunelessly.

"What about him?" Julia was looking at him curiously. "The cast, you mean?"

"Mmm. I think so. I didn't notice it when I went up ahead before; I guess his coat was covering it."

The man went into the toilet opposite the one Nick had used before.

"You wait here and… no, hold it."

The woman with the clutch bag came out of the other door.

"Look." He spoke in a rapid undertone. "It's your turn now. Go powder your nose. Take as long as you can. I'll follow in a while. But listen for his door opening. He may be through before I get there."

She nodded, listening intently.

"When you hear his door open, open yours right away and get a good look at him. Study that cast and let me know what you see. I want to get in right after him even if I have to wait; that means the other one has to be occupied. So you wait until you hear that door. Then get out of there as fast as you can and watch him."

Julie was already picking her way past him.

"What if I'm in the middle of something when I hear his door open?" she breathed, an impish grin on her face.

"Just don't start anything you can't finish," Nick answered.

She made her way to the vacant lavatory.

Flight 601 began a gradual climb to escape a wall of storm clouds that had started building in the east.

Aunt Jemima

The man with the broken arm spent ten minutes in the lavatory. Nick timed him. He waited restlessly outside the door, evincing all the impatience of an uncomfortable passenger in urgent need of privacy. The plane hit a small air pocket, and he was able to lurch and groan convincingly. Janet Reed flashed him an anxious look.

"Mr. Cane," she said in a low voice, "don't you think you'd better go back to your seat and wait? You don't look well at all. How about another pill?"

"No to both, thank you very much," he moaned. "Now that I'm here, I'll just stay put. Don't worry."

"All right," she answered doubtfully.

"Ohhhh!" The muffled sound and his tortured look were sufficient.

"Well, please call me if I can help."

The lavatory door opened and the man came out. Behind him, as Nick stood at the ready, he heard the other door click. The man with the cast looked blankly at Nick, said "Excuse me," and stepped sideways into the aisle. Julie moved quickly ahead of him and briefly blocked his path. Nick took the face and body apart in a lightning survey. Bland features, small scar on left side of mouth, heavy beard starting to show under the film of powder that gave the illusion of a clean shave, eyes that held all the expression of a dead fish. He moved stiffly, supporting his bandaged arm in his good hand. Nick wondered why he did not use a sling, then stumbled gratefully into the lavatory and closed the door on the automatic lock.

The cubicle was no more than a comfortable stall equipped with sink, commode, chair with strap, and shelving for towels. The wall light had an electric razor socket. A small porthole showed a view of blue sky above a bank of clouds. Nick made a rapid inspection. Nothing out of the way on shelves, wall, floor, fixtures. He ran the water from both taps into the shining sink. Steam rose, but nothing else. A clean piece of soap lay in its hollow.

Nick wrapped a paper tissue round his fingers and felt inside the toilet bowl. Nothing. A fresh roll of tissue hung conveniently near at hand. He took it off its rod, replaced it when he saw there was nothing in the tube. He washed his hands.

When he returned to his seat, Julie murmured: "You really are beginning to look sick. Find something?"

He shook his head. "I'm starving to death. Maybe we can order some sandwiches for you, and I'll lap up the crumbs. Let's call dreamboat."

"I'll call dreamboat," she said, and did.

They were silent until Janet had come and gone with their order and then the sandwiches. Nick took one from Julia's hand.

"Watercress! What a diet for a growing boy."

"Good for the tummy," said Julia placidly. "By the way, it struck me that our friend's plaster cast was just a little loose to be effective."